


Thursday Mornings

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Running, Switching, workdays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16050242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Thursday mornings were always Harry’s favorite.





	Thursday Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @jeni_andtheafterthought for the wonderful and super fast beta.

Thursday mornings were always Harry’s favorite.

He knew it should be Sundays, when Draco and he would have a lie-in, spending the morning eating corners of toast and freshly cooked bacon. They would stay in their sheets, legs wrapped in legs, fingers exploring languidly, deliberately. The kind of mornings where they would fill their bellies and then fill their mouths with each other.

Harry would take his time opening Draco up, lapping at his core, delving in with his tongue until they were both panting with need. Until their bedroom was filled with words like, “ _there, right there_ ,” and “ _don’t stop_ ” and “ _harder, Harry, please love, yes_.”

Or Friday nights, when they’d return home from the loud club, their bodies slick with sweat and lust after grinding together for hours. When Draco would wrap Harry’s wrists together, binding him to the headboard as he lapped against his clavicle. When the smacks from the soft leather would drive Harry closer and closer to the edge, with Draco holding the rope, not letting him topple over until the very last minute.

Harry loved their time spent between the sheets, between each other’s arms, but there was something special about Thursday mornings.

Thursday mornings they went running together.

They’d wake up to the Tempus at exactly 6:15am, unravel themselves from sheets and scattered limbs, and put on their joggers. Together, they’d step out the door and breathe in the brisk morning air.

Harry hated running. He hated how his thin legs poked out of the seam of his shorts, and how his socks always bunched awkwardly around his ankles. He hated how messy his hair got after the wind and sweat took ahold of it.

He hated the feeling of being on the run, being chased, doing the chasing after Horcruxes and Dark Lords and spiders.

But Harry loved running with Draco Malfoy.

He loved feeling his warm hands on his hips as they stretched in the front garden. He loved watching Draco tie his shoes so meticulously, making sure each loop was the same size and that the laces were knotted tight. He loved the way Draco’s calves flexed when he rubbed his ankles.

He loved how they’d start off slow, lightly jogging to the end of the street, only the sound of their trainers hitting the hard asphalt. Once they hit the streetlamp, however, Draco would pick up the pace, increasing their speed until their hearts would start pumping properly.

By the time they reached the edge of Richmond Park, Harry would be panting, his struggle noticeable by the peak in his eyebrows, the sweat dampening his shirt. His glasses would slip from his nose, and he’d shove them upward, begging them to stay, begging them to stop making it so obvious how much he was perspiring.

Draco would look like a _fucking god_. Like the sun, and the heat and the hills were made for his pleasure.

They would pause, allowing Harry to catch his breath and cast an Aguamenti for some water, and Draco would say things, then. He would say the most beautiful things while they were stopped.

“ _Merlin, Potter, you’re so fucking fit. I can see the ripples of your abs below your shirt. I can’t wait to get my mouth on you._ ”

As they entered through Bishops Gate, Draco’s stride would mercifully slow, enjoying the scenery of the gardens around them. He’d stare wistfully at the trees, as if they were speaking to him, telling tales of the journeys of their leaves.

They would talk while they climbed Sawyer’s Hill.

Draco would talk about his father, how the Manor was filled with a silent pressure that would choke him while he slept. How, when he ran, he felt almost as good as flying, as if he could escape the cold chill of being a Malfoy.

Harry would talk about the Dursleys, how he was kept in a cage until magic rescued him. How lonely those nights were in the tent.

They would talk about the Weasleys and how the collection of monogrammed sweaters were some of their most valued possessions. They would whine about their schedules and their bosses and their coworkers and their teammates.

Harry wondered what it would have been like to run the grounds of Hogwarts with Draco. To wind through the trees, to take a breath behind Hagrid’s hut. To watch Draco’s hair glimmer in his reflection on the black lake.

As they crossed over the apex of the hill, Draco would pick up the pace, sprinting all the way to Roehampton Gate. His quick stride would challenge Harry. He never did want to lose to Malfoy, even now, even after all of their years together.

They’d stretch again when they reached the end. Harry would watch with bated breath as Draco would bend himself in half, contouring into various yoga poses, holding each position for longer than Harry could ever imagine.

He’d lick his lips as he’d watch Draco’s arse move up and down, from cat to cow, his joggers finally sticking to the slick sheen of his legs. His fucking gorgeous legs.

They’d tuck behind a bush and Apparate back to their flat, the sudden cool air hitting their wet skin. Harry and Draco would strip out of their clothes, casting their runners into cluttered corners, before gathering in the shower.

Harry loved the feeling of water on his worn body, starting ice cold and turning to scalding hot as it melted into his muscles. He loved the feeling of Draco pressed against him, rubbing soap along Harry’s arms, down his back, between his thighs. Harry loved to put his own hands on Draco, cupping his arse, shampooing his hair, massaging his shoulders. They’d dress, each off to their own days, leaving with a quick kiss and a nod goodbye.

Thursday mornings were always Harry’s favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hate running, but would run with Draco any day. I'm on [tumblr](https://keyflight790.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
